Story of P.

While in Sao Paulo, I did a bunch of Tarot readings. I did five in a row that hit on all cylinders, just dead-on stuff: â€œYouâ€™re in a legal conflict with a man who has disappointed you, and youâ€™re involved in athleticsâ€ were my first words to a woman who then revealed she was a gym teacher in the midst of a divorce.

Then P. comes in and I read the first cards.

â€œNoâ€ she says.

I read the next cards.

â€œNot at all, I just donâ€™t relate to that.â€

Next cards.

â€œIn fact,â€ she says, â€œItâ€™s the opposite.â€

You get that fear in the pit of your stomach. Every reader knows that fear. I never doubt Iâ€™m good; I always have those killer gym teacher readings when I have moments of wondering, but sometimes, everything just stops working, and itâ€™s pit of the stomach time.

I took a deep breath, let go of the fear, breathed back in the knowledge that I was in the right place, at the right time, saying the right thing.

â€œThis isnâ€™t workingâ€ I said, washing the layout and pulling in all the cards.

â€œIt never works for meâ€ she said (through Lulu, who was translating). â€œIâ€™ve had readings before and this is what happens.â€

Ah! This tells me something. This is about connection.

â€œListen. Weâ€™re going to do this. Look in my eyes and stay with me. Donâ€™t look at Lulu; she can translate without seeing your face. Stay with me.â€

I shuffle the cards without breaking eye contact, and fan them out on the table.

â€œNow letâ€™s stay in contact here.â€ I place my hands gently over hers, and ask her to pick a card from the fan. I read the card.

Six cards that way. Six isnâ€™t a lot for a reading, but the process was slow. And powerful.

â€œThatâ€™s all weâ€™re readingâ€ I say. â€œYouâ€™ve broken through. There was a wall, but we broke it down together. You never again have to say that readings donâ€™t work for you. You can always break this wall.â€